


i could be your new addiction

by thispieceofmind



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Fluff, High School, M/M, Of sorts?, like harry is a nanny but he's in highschool, nanny!au, rich boy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 07:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thispieceofmind/pseuds/thispieceofmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"she hangs up, and harry hasn’t a clue what he just got himself into. </p><p>it’s mainly: <em>nanny?</em>"</p><p>harry works as a nanny, and louis is the girls' older brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i could be your new addiction

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys! i haven't updated anything in forever and i feel so bad, man oh man. but i've been super busy and i go away for a month tomorrow, but i have lots of long flights and my ipad mini with a keyboard, so i think i'll be getting some writing in!!
> 
> i realize that this whole "nanny!au" is very untimely because of the beautiful speaking of marvels that just came out. but rest assured they are completely different and i've actually been working on this piece for like, two months. plus, harry's the nanny in this.
> 
> moving on, i really do hope you guys like it, and i'm dedicating it to yaz as a very very late birthday present. also thank you for kenzi and michelle for help in the beta process! enjoy babes (ू•ᴗ•ू❁)

**i could be your new addiction**

Harry has never been desperate, really. He appreciates what he has and what he’s given and never, ever intends to come off as ungrateful for all of the things his mum does to support their family. But he’s in school and sometimes he wants to _do_ things, and it’s kind of hard to when you don’t have just a bit of cash to burn on. 

It’s his sister who suggests he gets a job. “Come on, Harry!” Gemma says through the phone line. “It’ll be good for you! You know how bad Mum feels when she can’t help with cash. Think of it as a learning experience!”  
Harry wants to snort but instead sighs, running a hand through his hair and looking down irritably at the homework he’d started earlier but took a break from to phone his sister. “But what do I even do?” Harry whines.

“Become a babysitter! You’re great with kids,” Gemma reminds him. 

“A babysitter?” Harry repeats. “That’s lame.”

“Have you got any other ideas?” Gemma retorts. “Plus, you’ve always been good with our neighbors and cousins. It’ll be a worthwhile thing. Plus, it’s not forever, yeah? Hang up something in town. You’ll see. I’m always right.”

Harry sighs again. He can’t exactly argue. “All right, Gem. I’ll give it a go. Yeah. Have a good weekend, okay?”

“You, too, H,” Gemma says softly. “Go out and get some life experience.” She laughs. “You need it.”

Harry can hear the teasing and laughing in her voice and the joking in her eyes, so he glances down at his phone and promptly hangs up, knowing that he’ll get shit for it later. He peers down at the maths again, but opens a word document on his laptop instead. He needs a paper to hang in town. 

***

On the way to school the next morning, he stops at the supermarket. And when he parts, there’s a paper tacked up on the board with his name, information, poorly made WordArt, and tearable tabs of his mobile number. 

While he’s at school, he gets four texts from unknown numbers. Two of them ask if he’s free to do hard labor. (Which – no.) One asks if his refrigerator is running. (To which he thinks –  _really?_ ) And the other is saying that he should be expecting a call later. And, well, at least one person has the potential to be serious. He struggles through maths but thinks, _hey, I might be able to buy new shoes next month._

He gets the call on his way home, the sky looking angry, dark, and threatening. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. It’s an unknown number, and he crosses his fingers that it’s legitimate as he walks. 

“Hello?” Harry says when he picks up.

“Is this Harry Styles? The boy who has his information in the grocery?” It’s a lady.

Harry chuckles a little. “That’s me.”

“Look. I want you to take that down,” the woman says.

“What?” Harry splutters. He has to remind himself to keep walking. “Why?”

“Because I need a nanny, and I don’t want other clients busying you. You’re perfect, doll!”

Harry sighs in relief. “Well, okay. I can do that. Should we meet soon – or? I figured you’d need to, like, interview me or something.”

“Of course, love,” she says as though Harry’s completely off his rocker. “Listen, I’ve just got off work, would you like to meet at my house?”

“Um, sure?” Harry’s not entirely sure what’s happening, though. “Where do you live? It’s in town, right?”  


“Yes, yes, of course,” she says. Harry realizes he doesn’t know her name. She prattles off an address, and Harry runs it through his head, but winds up writing it on his hand with a pen from his pocket. “Is four all right, love?”  


“Sure,” Harry murmurs. “Um – ma’am, may I ask for a name?”

“Oh!” she exclaims. “I hadn’t realized I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Jay Tomlinson.”

“Okay! Thank you for this. I’ll see you at four?”

“Yes, you will.” 

She hangs up, and Harry hasn’t a clue what he just got himself into. 

It’s mainly: _nanny?_

_***_

Four comes. Harry puts the address in his phone. It’s not far, but he takes his bike and hopes the angry sky holds off until he’s home. He also checks his countdowns. Two weeks until summer. He’s not entirely sure why he’s still trying in maths. He listens to music while he bikes and may or may not shit himself when he sees the estate he’s pulled up to. He checks and double checks, but this is it – it’s the big gates and huge lawn with the extravagant landscaping and house so massive that it could eat Harry’s for breakfast. 

It’s elegant, though. Victorian, with cobblestone and simple colors and a beautiful intricacy to it. He’s a little bit in shock, but it’s magnificent. Harry falls in love a little. He stares at the gate for at least three minutes without knowing how to get in. Then a black Porsche pulls up and maybe his dreams have come true. The windows are rolled own, and in the driver’s seat is a boy with rustled hair, a tie pulled undone around his neck, and aviators perched on his face. Harry falls in love a little. 

“Who’re you?” the guy asks, and Harry snaps out of it.

“Um, Harry. I’m Harry. I’m here for Jay? As like, a babysitter or nanny or whatever.” _Nanny,_ he thinks. How did he wind up addressing himself as nanny?

The boy smiles. “All right, Harry. I’m Louis. You can follow me.” He presses a button on a remote in his car, and the doors of the gate swing forward to let them through. Louis zooms up the driveway, and Harry bikes slowly, taking his surroundings in and looking at the pristine air to it all. By the time he reaches the top of the drive, Louis is already leaning against his car, smirking as he presses the button on his remote again. He gestures with a hand while Harry puts down his kickstand on his bike. He follows Louis up the winding pathway to the grand, oak front doors. He opens them, and then Harry is greeted with marble floors, wooden staircases, and a big, crystal chandelier. 

“Your house is lovely,” Harry breathes. 

Louis manages a smile. “Thanks, mate. Mum should be in the kitchen.” Harry blinks. “That’s to the left.”

“Ah,” Harry lets out, and then Louis is bounding up the stairs, and Harry figures he should be alone, but a woman is bustling towards him in scrubs and make up, and well – he’s not. 

“I’m assuming you’re Harry and not some boy Lou has brought home to wander the house?” Harry’s going to guess this is Jay. 

Harry chuckles awkwardly. “Um, no. I’m Harry. Louis let me in, though.”

“Good! Tea, love?”

“Sure,” Harry says. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem!” Jay replies, going into her kitchen and filling up the red kettle. “So, Harry. Have a seat, tell me about yourself, and I’ll tell you about your job.”

Okay. Harry can do that. So they talk over tea, and Harry tells her that he’s looking for a little money because his family hasn’t got a terrible amount to spare, and that he’s really good with children and has always loved them. He tries to use his charming smile and bright eyes because it really seems like a good opportunity, and he doesn’t want to lose it. 

“You seem really lovely, Harry, and I would really enjoy having you as a nanny.” Harry blushes and smiles and squirms a little on the inside because _nanny._ “But I want to make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Harry nods. “I am a mother of five. You’ve already met Louis, but I’ve also got four daughters. And while they’re good girls, they’re also a very, very big responsibility.” Harry nods again, solemnly. 

“How old are they?”  


“Charlotte is eleven, Felicité is nine, and the twins, Daisy and Phoebe, are five.”

“Wow,” Harry says. 

Jay chuckles. “I work crazy schedules as a doctor, and my husband is a lawyer. I would have Lou watch them more, but he’s been... so busy lately.”

“I understand.”

“Do you think you’re up for a challenge, Harry?” Jay asks. 

Harry grins. “I’ve never been known to turn one down.”

***

Harry never thought he would wind up as a nanny, but here he is. It’s a Friday evening, and this is how he’s spending his night. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knows he doesn’t have anything better to do, anyway. He rings the doorbell of the Tomlinson’s house hesitantly, (he;d been given the code for the gate, and had felt special punching it in. But no one needs to know that.) and waits. Louis opens the door, hair tussled, eyes gleaming, and legs being hugged by very tight jeans. Harry wants to touch him. But he doesn’t think that’s a very appropriate way to make a good first impression when he’s attempting to become a nanny for his younger sisters. Rather than touching, he smiles. 

Louis smiles back. “Harry! Here for the girls?”

“Yeah, I’m supposed to be watching them until eleven.”

“Sweet. Mum’s in the kitchen,” Louis tells him. 

Harry grins and does a little half wave thing and knows he probably looks stupid. “All right, thanks, Louis. I’ll see you around, maybe.”

Louis laughs. “Maybe.”

And Harry’s scuttling off before he can look any stupider. Jay’s on the phone in the kitchen, looking pleased as she drums her nails against the granite counter and flicks through a folder of take out menus in front of her. Harry waits patiently, giving a little wave when she looks up to meet his eyes, but does nothing else than look around the beautiful kitchen as she finishes her conversation. 

Once off the phone, she grins at him. “Hey, Harry! So glad you could come tonight. Louis’ probably heading over to his mate Zayn’s or some party.” She sighs, but smiles either way. “Can never keep up with him, that boy. Anyway, Mark and I have a dinner party tonight, but we should be home by eleven. Lottie’s fine to stay up, but the younger girls should be in bed by nine. I’ve got some money here for dinner, you can just take a vote and order whatever.”

“Okay.” Harry grins. “Oh, um, Mrs. Tomlinson, if there’s ever a time where they need a home-cooked meal or something, I can do that as well.”

“You’re a chef, too? My god, you’re a gem. Thanks so much, love! I’ll see you at eleven.” 

She pulls on a cardigan, grabs her purse, shouts up the staircase to Mark, and well, Harry’s a nanny.

He finds the girls on the other side of the foyer, piled onto a leather couch that looks sunken in and comfortable, but still incredibly posh and shiny. There’s some cartoon on the telly, and the one who looks the oldest, who Harry assumes is Lottie, looks bored out of her mind. The other girls seem sucked in completely, eyes wide and hair sticking to their cheeks simply because of the lack of desire to fix it. 

“Who are you?” the girl on her phone asks. 

Harry chuckles awkwardly as he steps further in the room. He rubs the back of his neck. “Erm, I’m Harry,” he starts, but one of the other girls interrupts him, one that’s not a twin. 

“Are you Louis’ boyfriend?” she peeps. 

Harry swallows, forces himself to laugh. “Uh, no, sweetie. I’m your babysitter, Harry Styles? Your mum did tell you about me, right?”

“Oh yeah!” a younger one peeps up. “Hi, Harry Styles!”

“Hi, Harry Styles!” he hears again, and he practically jumps, because it’s nearly the same voice just from a different mouth. “You’re our nanny,” she says. 

“I guess I am,” Harry says. “I’ll be here ‘till eleven, yeah? How about we get to know each other, and then we can order some food, all right?”

“Okay,” the oldest starts slowly, looking up from her phone finally. Her cheeks pink a little, and Harry wonders what he did. “I’m Lottie. The eldest, apart from Louis who is apparently not your boyfriend.”

“Um– yeah, we’ve only met twice, so I don’t think–” Harry flounders, but another girl manages to cut him off. 

“I’m Felicité, but you can just call me Fizzy or Fizz or Fliss, really it’s up to you,” she says, tucking her feet under her legs. 

“I’m Daisy!” one of the twins squeaks next. 

“I’m Phoebe!” the other says. 

Harry shakes his head. He’s not so sure how he’s going to get _that_ down.

***

He gets it by the end of the night. He knows Daisy from Phoebe, and that Lottie is the oldest, and that Fliss likes extra cheese on her pizza. It is what it is, really. They’re lovely girls, and the night is peaceful enough, sans a few arguments over the remote and what movie to watch, but Harry’s relaxed, and he even lets the girls pet his hair and braid it and put in all sorts of funny bows and ribbons. They go for make up, too, but he says that that needs to be saved for another time. (He can only take so much in one night, after all.)

He doesn’t see Louis leave, but he hears the beep of the alarm system when Louis opens the door, and he hears the roar of the Porsche’s engine when he veers down the driveway. 

At eleven, Lottie is long retired to her room, and the three others have been asleep for ages. Harry watches shitty television and wonders why nothing is on during a Friday night, but when Jay and Mark return as promised, Harry accepts a bundle of cash that he wasn’t expecting to be so large with wide eyes and a smile that he really can’t help. He’s not sure how many times he says thank you, but when he leaves, he has  more opportunities screaming him in the face, and he’s really just happy that he’ll be able to treat himself to some new clothes for the summer.

***

Harry helps out one more time during the week. He watches the twins at the park for an hour while Lottie and Fliss take their piano lessons, and when Louis is early in picking them up, he forces himself to man up and talk to him. 

“Hey, Louis,” Harry says, and he looks Louis in the eye because while he is wealthy and gorgeous and virtually unattainable, Harry has _some_ self-worth. 

“Hey, Harry,” Louis says back cooly. “Girls treating you all right? I heard you had bows in your hair the other night.”

Harry tips his head back and lets himself laugh, keeping a side eye on the girls on the slides. “You heard correct. But they really are lovely. Nice sisters, you’ve got.” Daisy and Phoebe go down the pink swirly slide together, giggling and getting too much speed, but bouncing right up and brushing off their knees when they land in the wood chips. 

“I really do love them,” Louis says genuinely, as if Harry had doubted that in the first place. 

“I’m sure you do,” Harry says gently, not wanting to get on his bad side or have him be defensive when that’s not what he meant at all. “You’ve got every reason to.”

Louis smiles, and Harry watches the way the laugh lines at the corners of his eyes crinkle up and make him infinitely brighter. He sighs, soon after. “I’m just busy, y’know? I feel guilty about it all the time, but it’s just, prep school and friends and coursework. It keeps me wound up. And I leave room for fun, so I guess it could be a bit my fault.”

Harry laughs. He wants to say _I understand,_ but – he doesn’t, that much. “I get you,” he goes for instead. “I don’t mind watching them, though. So far it hasn’t been a chore. I really like them. They’re sweethearts.”

“Well,” Louis starts, clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “I’m glad you think so. I’ll be seeing you around quite a bit then, yeah?” Harry nods happily. “Good.” His voice drops. “I’ll be looking forward to it, then.” And then he’s walking off, and Harry feels a shudder run through him. He’s fucked, a bit. 

He waves goodbye to the girls as they’re approached by their brother, and he starts his walk home. 

***

It’s Saturday, and Harry is cooking dinner in the Tomlinson’s beautiful kitchen. It’s simple, just pasta and Bolognese, but the girls will like it, and he likes it, so he sings to the stereo that’s built into the home’s ceilings as the girls sit in the kitchen and chatter about their respective days at school. He stirs the pot with the meat and tomatoes and drains the pasta, knowing that there will just be a few minutes to dinner and tries not to think of what a night he has ahead of him. 

Jay asked Harry on Thursday to stay the night because Louis has a party at Zayn’s, and they have to go down to London for the night because of a special business trip. Harry agreed because he likes the girls and he likes the house, and once again, he’s not got much else to do. He brought his laptop, but he’s at least got three hours until anyone’s in bed, so he just focuses on the moment and serves heaping bowls of steaming pasta. 

The response he gets from the girls is very much worth it – that being big smiles, happy tummies, and Daisy exclaiming, “You should become a chef, Harry!” and Phoebe agreeing, “Yeah! Chef Harry! You can bake us cupcakes!” – so he sits and eats and makes sure nobody chokes. He piles everything into the dishwasher and sees the twins’ hopeful gazes, Fizzy’s poorly hidden one, and Lottie’s smirk hidden behind her phone where her nails tap against the screen. 

Harry sighs, but he’s smiling. “Cupcakes?” he asks. 

“Please?” Phoebe begs. 

“Have you got all the stuff?” Harry asks, looking wearily around the pristine kitchen. 

Lottie speaks up and even gazes up, too. “We do. I can show you. I bake from time to time.”

Harry glances at the excited expressions on the girls’ faces one last time, and he relents. “Okay,” he says. “We can make cupcakes.”

***

One big mess and many a cupcake later, Harry is sitting in the kitchen on his laptop with one cupcake left on a plate, the counter shining, and all four girls in their beds. He feels very accomplished. Perhaps he could get used to being a nanny. He reckons the rewarding feeling is pay enough, really, being able to care for little kids and tell them stories and make them food and having the ability to see those bright smiles. He sighs as he pointlessly browses on the Internet. It’s only about 11:30, but he’s already knackered. 

He eyes the last cupcake with interest. He’s just got it into his hand when he hears the front door swing open, and at first he’s confused because he locked it, but moments later, Louis is storming in, hair messy, button down halfheartedly done up, and eyebrows knit. He grabs a glass of water, sighs more than once, and eventually sits down at the table next to Harry. 

Harry’s cupcake is still in his hand. “Are you gonna eat that?” Louis asks. “You baked?”

“Um, I was. And yeah, the girls broke out the puppy dog eyes so I told them that we could,” Harry replies. “We could split it, if you’d like?” he offers carefully, noting the knife that rests on the plate. He hadn’t actually been able to taste a complete cupcake, just batter and frosting because he’d only made twelve for the sake of time, and the girls inhaled them in moments. 

“That’d be nice, yeah,” Louis says. Harry halves the cupcake and displays the rainbow inside, and Louis raises his eyebrows. 

“How’d you do that?” Louis asks, taking his half from the holder on the plate and eating it in a clean two bites. 

“Um, you just make vanilla and separate it into a bunch of bowls, and then add different food coloring to each. Pretty simple, really.”

(And they _had_ to be rainbow because:

_“Harry,_ it’s no fun if they’re just _plain!”_

“Yeah, Harry, no fun!” 

So, rainbow it was.)

“Cool,” Louis says, seemingly nonplussed. “Tasted nice, though. You’re rather good at baking, then?”

“Erm, I try? I used to bake with my gran a lot, when I was younger. I guess the skills just stuck with me,” Harry replies, fiddling with his bracelet and standing after he finishes cupcake. 

“Well, that’s good them. It’ll come in handy with the whole nanny job, then, right?”

Harry chuckles and stands, still feeling slightly out of place and flushed when Louis looks at him. “I guess so.” He takes the plate and puts it in the dishwasher just to have something to busy himself. He washes his hands afterward, still sticky from cupcake, and then he realizes that, well, Louis is _home._ Louis isn’t supposed to be home. 

“Louis?” Harry asks, closing his laptop where it was still open and sitting back down at the stool. 

“Yeah, mate?”

“Not to pry, or anything, but why are you home? I was supposed to stay the night but I’m not so sure if I would need to if you’re here? I just, wasn’t expecting you, is all.”

Louis gets that furrow back between his brow that he’d had when he just walked in. “Zayn kicked me out so he could shag his boyfriend.” He rolls his eyes. “Twat.” 

“Oh,” Harry says. “Can’t you hang out another day?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, “but we were supposed to get smashed. I was looking forward to it all week.” He sighs heavily. “Whatever. I’ll just sleep.” He turns to leave the kitchen. 

“Should I stay?” Harry asks. “Like, now that you’re here?”

Louis pauses. “Yeah, I would. You can do, like, a fry up for the girls in the morning. They’d like that. Just stay, yeah? You biked here anyway, and it’s late.”

“Okay,” Harry murmurs. “Goodnight, Louis.”

“Night, Harry.”

Louis saunters out, pushing up his sleeves up and displaying his forearms, biceps framed in the dark maroon of his button up, and he’s all swaying hips and still messy hair. And oh, Harry’s fucked. 

***

Friday nights are still really bad for television, and Harry can’t quite figure out why. The girls are in bed, though, so he looks through the channels with movies playing because he’s grown rather desperate, and he finds one that’s close to just starting and turns it on because he’s really, really bored and is far past the point of actually caring about what he’s watching. He sits back and tries to pay attention to what’s going on, but ends up dreaming about nothing. He’s not exactly tired, and the Internet got boring, too. He sighs but is brought out of his revery when there’s the sound of a roaring engine coming from outside and then the opening of the front door. 

Louis is home again, for the second week in a row. Harry pretends he doesn’t really notice, pushing back the urge to get up and greet him, and instead lays back and stares at the screen where he still has not a clue about what’s going on. There’s a girl on the floor right now, which could easily be an accurate representation of him on weekdays with his homework, but next Wednesday is the last day of school, so he’s thankful that that won’t be him for a while. 

Louis walks in the room after about a minute, and Harry glances over when he plops down on the couch. And then Louis is staring at him, and Harry’s growing steadily more uncomfortable and shifty as he feels the eyes walk all over him. Harry runs a hand through his hair and pulls on the bottom of his shirt, and Louis still hasn’t even _said_ anything. 

Harry focuses on breathing and attempts to stare at the T.V., but. 

But Louis is rather distracting, so he plays with his phone instead and goes on Instagram even though no one is posting anything at midnight. He’s not sure how long it’s been, even though it’s probably shorter than it seems, when Louis finally says something. “What the fuck are you watching, Harry?”

And Harry bursts out laughing because, “I really have no idea.”

The girl that was on the floor before is now jumping on her bed and screaming along to some sort of song, but then she collapses onto her pillows and starts sobbing. Harry laughs again. 

“I’ve chosen better,” he says. 

“I’d have to agree that there are better movies,” Louis laughs. “C’mon, let’s order something on pay-per-view. I could use a good film.”

“All right,” Harry agrees, and Louis stands to unlace his shoes and lets them sit on the carpet, sitting again significantly closer to Harry, their arms brushing and calves brushing because of the angle that Louis is sitting in order to get his legs up on the couch. It’s nice. Louis’s still kind of staring; he’s not being subtle, and Harry kind of wants to stare back, but doesn’t. 

They scroll through a fair amount of movies, laughing at the dumb ones and both cringing at the scary ones. (Harry admits, he’s weak. He can just tell that they’re not Louis’ thing, either.) Eventually, Louis is even closer to Harry than before, and they decide on 17 Again, which, okay. Harry’s seen it a million times because _Zac Efron_ , come on, and it’s funny. So Harry can’t complain even though he feels a little bit like a girl. 

“Love this flick,” Louis says once it starts, leaning back and slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders. Well, around the back of the couch, thus also around Harry’s shoulders. This action makes Harry feel a little bit more like a girl. (In a good way.) “Zac Efron is so fit, Christ.” 

And, well, _oh._ This is good. Louis thinking Zac Efron is fit is very good. That makes him slightly less unattainable. Harry remembers he should probably say something back, so he goes, “Yeah. This movie was a very good time for him. The sunglasses just work.” 

Louis nods solemnly and watches as the protagonist gets sucked into a whirlpool of swirling dark water and is turned into the younger, hotter version of himself. 

They’re silent for a while after that, and it’s only when Mike gets out of his car wearing the sunglasses and the v neck does Harry speak up again. He sighs wistfully. “Y’know, I wish I could rock a top like that.”

This happens to be Louis’ cue to look at him again. He stares at his chest and his torso before replying in a serious tone. “No, I think you could.” He tugs on the collar of Harry’s old Beatles tee. “You’ve got the collarbones for it.” He peers down for quite a while; Harry grows rather hot and bothered. “You’re quite cute, really. Rival with Zac Efron, I’d say.”

Harry snorts because Louis doesn’t sound completely serious, and also, no way in hell. Zac Efron beats everyone. “ _Sure_ ,” Harry drawls. “But thanks, I guess.”

“I’m serious, though!” Louis exclaims. He looks at Harry again, and he has an expression on which Harry would reckon to be _fuck it,_ before swinging a leg over Harry’s lap and taking a seat. “You _are_ cute.”

Harry blushes bright red and thanks his lucky stars that he’s got the lights turned off. “Erm, I could say the same?” Harry squeaks out. 

“Is that doubt I hear?” Louis ridicules. He raises a skeptical eyebrow and shifts his bum in Harry’s lap not so nonchalantly. 

“No, no,” Harry says. “You’re definitely cute.”

“Good,” Louis mutters, and then he’s kissing Harry. 

And, oh shit, he’s kissing Harry. Harry splutters for a few moments, hands first fumbling on the leather of the couch and lips unmoving under Louis’. But then the blissful realization of the fact that a cute boy is on his lap and is kissing him settles in quite quickly, and his hands grip Louis’ tight, little waist, and he kisses back, letting his eyes flutter shut and focusing on the gentle fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

Maybe it’s seconds or hours later, but then Louis is pulling back and whispering into Harry’s ear. “You’re quite lovely, y’know?” And Harry blushes bright red. 

“I–” Harry starts, but he’s not given enough time to finish. He doesn’t mind that much. He doesn’t really want to think about what gibberish would have come out of his mouth. 

“Hey,” Louis murmurs, smoothing the hair out of Harry’s face and then the pink off of his cheekbones. “Come for a walk with me tomorrow morning. Snog me now. Good plan?”

It’s a bit of rapid fire, and Harry’s brain is processing things kind of slowly, but he nods, and Louis smirks at him, shifting his bum on Harry’s lap and leaning in slowly, letting their lips just barely brush, his eyes dark and devilish in the poor lighting coming from the television. Harry wants to see them in the moonlight and closer in the daylight, but he’s not thinking about that. Louis trails his lips along Harry’s jaw and sucks at the corner before kissing Harry hard, and then Harry’s not really thinking about anything at all, except for maybe his hands on Louis’ bum and _cuteboycuteboy._

But, really. What else is new? 

***

It takes them until at least fifteen minutes after the movie’s ended to peel off of each other, and by then Harry’s lips are red and his hair is messy, and maybe he’s breathing a little harder. He had grown accustomed to Louis resting his head in the crook of his neck to suck or the feeling of deft hands gripping his biceps. Harry leaves the room with a daze, right after Louis whispers in his ear, “See you in the morning, lovely boy,” and saunters right out, hair mussed in a way that he can pull off and hips swinging maybe a little bit more than usual. 

He forces any and all thoughts out of his mind after he locks the doors of the house and curls up in the guest bedroom the Tomlinsons had given him, and he falls asleep curled tightly in his duvet praying that he’s got no mark on his neck because he has to face the girls in the morning. 

***

He’s woken up by Louis looming over his face. When his eyes snap open, he leans forward in shock, and his forehead smashes straight into Louis’. And if there isn’t a better way to greet the morning. Louis leans back with a palm pressed to his head and his eyes narrowed. 

“Bastard!” Louis exclaims in a whisper. “It was not supposed to go like that.”

“Well, I can’t say that’s how I was planning on waking up, either.”

Louis’ eyes narrow more, but he straightens up out of Harry’s face. “Not apologizing,” he says. 

Harry laughs lightly, sits up. “What time is it, anyway? And why are you waking me up?”

“It’s about half six, and you promised that you’d go on a walk with me.” Louis grins all big and it lights up the entire room, dim from the shut curtains. “So, up you get. Be dressed and downstairs in ten minutes. Will a banana and toast with butter do for breakfast? As it’s the extent of what I can make, pretty much.”

Harry laughs again and pushes the blankets off his body, not sure if he’s glad or missing out on an opportunity because he chose to sleep with pants on while in someone else’s home. He stands and stretches either way. “It’s great, Louis. Thank you. I’ll be down in a bit. The girls still asleep?”

“Why else would I wake at such a disgusting hour? Yeah, they shouldn’t be up until around eight. We can lock the doors, and they won’t know a thing.”

Harry looks weary, but it seems as though Louis has done this before, so he nods and Louis leaves, Harry still wondering if there’s a mark on his neck because Louis couldn’t seem to stop looking there. 

He dresses quickly, just jeans and a tee because he wasn’t exactly thinking to dress his best when he packed an overnight bag as a _nanny._ But he still wants to impress Louis a little, because Louis’s cute and seems genuine, but maybe a little misunderstood. It’s then that he realizes that he doesn’t know anything, and that he wants to find out. Sure, they snogged, but that could be anyone. 

There’s a bruise on his neck, of course, and he just crosses his fingers that Jay won’t notice. He taps his foot on the ground as he brushes his teeth and dashes down the stairs when he deems himself presentable enough. 

Louis is eating a piece of toast when Harry gets into the kitchen, and they eat in an awkward silence that has sneaked glances from them both. They lock the doors on their way out, and Harry still sort of revels in the beauty of the neighborhood they’re in once they’re down the Tomlinson driveway. 

“Your neighborhood is beautiful.” Harry decides to voice his opinion, mostly because it’s true but also because they were still stuck in a sticky silence that made him rather uncomfortable. Louis smiles at him, though, and Harry lets out a breath. 

“Thank you. I’m rather used to it, and most of the people who go to my school are around here, but when I do think about it, the homes are quite beautiful,” Louis replies. 

They amble down the street, and while Harry’s eyes are everywhere, looking at every house, they manage to find their way back to Louis because he’s the prettiest thing around. And if that’s cheesy, then – well, Harry’s cheesy. He’s long accepted it. “Did you grow up around here?” 

“Lived in that house since I was seven, so more or less,” Louis says. “I have memories from before, but I either don’t like to think about them or they’re too fuzzy to bother with.”

Harry briefly wonders why those memories aren’t worth thinking about but ultimately decides that it’s not his business. He instead lets the backs of their hands brush and thinks of a change of topic; something light and easy. Harry hates small talk. “So, erm, how’s the private school life, then? I’ve always wondered, but I don’t think television really does it justice.”

Louis laughs. “It’s quite shit, if I’m honest.” His voice is a deadpan and his expression is one to match. 

Harry laughs. “Really, though?”

“Okay, not all of it. The work load is shit and the uniform is shit and often times the people can be shit, but I do love some of them, and the campus, teachers, and education are all worth it. So it’s like, half shit, then.” Harry laughs again, using the hand that isn’t brushing against Louis’ to cover his face. “And how’s public school, then?”

“I have to say it’s a full blown shit. All out. Potentially diarrhea. A shit show, if I may,” Harry says, and he knows that he’s awkward and embarrassing, and his cheeks are red as he talks, but Louis is laughing, high and tinkling with his head thrown back a little and the early-morning light making his hair shine and the dew drops on the lawns sparkle. 

They reach a cul-de-sac, and Louis points at the trees separating the two houses. “See back there?” Harry squints and can barely make out a beaten path that heads into the woods. “I’ll take you in there one night. There’s some cool stuff.” Harry’s heart beats a little faster but he manages to keep his composure as they walk by.  

“What kind of cool stuff?” he gets out. 

“You’ll have to wait and see. I promise I won’t tantalize for an agonizing amount of time, though. Although I am one to watch people squirm.” Louis smirks devilishly, and Harry can still see his eyes crinkle up from the sides behind his sunglasses. He turns a little red again. 

Harry coughs, and he runs through several ways to bring up last night. In the least suave way, he could murmur _hey, so, we made out on your couch last night can we do it again?_ but he doesn’t think that will be seen as so charming. Another would be to just kiss him, but he’s not got enough guts. He sighs, and Louis looks over at him. Their hands are still brushing. 

“Something wrong, lovely boy?” Louis asks, and Harry’s cheeks burn. 

“No,” he says. “Just thinking.”

“Good to hear. I wouldn’t want to be boring you.” Louis folds their hands together, and a thousand butterflies release into the pit of Harry’s stomach. “Let’s head back now. Maybe you can teach me how to work magic in the kitchen.” Louis looks pensive for a moment. “Or I could just watch; it might be safer.”

Harry smiles at the ground, and Louis’ fingers feel warm in his. He can just barely wonder what all this is. 

***

The next Friday is a little more of the same. They kissed a few more times in the kitchen the week before, but at midnight during the following week, Harry hears the rumble of the Porsche and the door swinging open from his location in the kitchen, and his chest tightens a little. Louis walks in not a minute later, and the top three buttons of his baby blue shirt are undone, and his collarbones look so very bitable. Harry has to force himself to look into Louis’ eyes that match his outfit. 

“Louis,” he greets. 

“Harry,” Louis nods back. He gets himself a glass of water and sits down next to Harry at the granite counter. 

“So are you just coming back home after a few hours out?” Harry blurts after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. 

“Basically, yeah,” Louis murmurs on the edge of his cup. 

“So do you even need me here? This is wasting your parents’ money!” Harry hates that. He hates getting paid so much when Louis always winds up home. 

“Not really. You’re taking good care of them. Y’know, feeding them, entertaining them. Plus, you need the money, and I get to hang out with my mates as well as you. We could do whatever we wanted right now, Curly.”

And well, yeah. They could, Harry realizes after thinking about it for a moment. It’s certainly a consolation. He drums his fingers on the counter. Louis is doing that thing where he’s openly staring at him again, and Harry looks down at the white v-neck he bought last night and his striped blue shorts. Louis raises his eyebrows. 

“Still rivaling with Zefron, I see.”

Harry snorts, and he thinks about his unruly hair that he constantly pushes from his eyes and his long, gangly, awkward body. “All right.”

“You pull off the shirt, like I said,” Louis brings up. 

“I guess,” Harry agrees, a cheeky grin just edging onto his lips. 

“Come up to my room,” Louis says. Forward. 

“Okay.” There are a thousand butterflies in Harry’s stomach again. 

They climb the wooden staircase, and Harry’s hand doesn’t once leave the smooth railing. Louis’ room is in the opposite direction than the guest room, and they pass a door with a sign that reads “Fliss’s Room!” as well as one that has a big pink “C” on it for what Harry assumes is Charlotte’s room. Louis’ is all the way at the end, and it’s all cherry wood furniture, beige walls, and a dark, alluring, maroon bed. He’s got a big, white iMac on his desk, and shit strewn everywhere. There’s a Man U banner on the wall and some band posters and photos of friends and knick knacks. It’s homey. It’s perfect. Harry loves it. 

“The humble abode,” Louis greets. He unbuttons his shirt right away and sniffs one hanging off his chair. He shrugs, and flips it right side out. Harry stares openly as he changes, and he knows that Louis pretends not to notice. It’s not until Harry registers what Louis is wearing does he burst out laughing. 

“What?” Louis asks. 

“Your shirt,” Harry squeals through peals of laughter, “oh god. You actually wear that?”

Louis looks down and looks back up. He seems completely nonplussed. “Nothing but the truth.”

“It says _‘Asstastic’_.”

“I’ll have you know I can read at _at least_ a kindergarten level so I am very well aware of what it says,” Louis retorts. He pops the button on his jeans. 

“Nothing but the truth?” Harry asks. He ignores the way Louis shimmies out of his trousers. 

Louis smiles. “You catch on fast.”

Harry grins at the floor. Louis pulls on grey sweats and Harry has to continue looking down to avoid staring. 

Louis flops onto his bed. He pats the spot beside him. “Come sit. I said we could do whatever we want.”

Harry traipses over cautiously, and Louis immediately curls into his side when he sits. He really does have zero inhibitions. “What, are we going to have a nice little chat about sex, drugs, and love?”

Louis scoffs and promptly straddles Harry’s lap. “Or we could snog again.”

“That too,” Harry agrees, and Louis curls his fingers into Harry’s hair, meets his bright, bright eyes, and kisses him hard. Harry’s hands immediately find Louis’ waist, and the cotton of his shirt is rough against his hands after looking at Louis’ smooth skin as he changed. Harry pushes up the hem of his top and settles his hands back on his hips, letting his fingertips brush Louis’ back and their lips slide messily together. He’s tentative at first, but Louis’ weight is set firmly in his lap and his fingers are still gently carding through Harry’s hair. Louis pulls back from the kiss first, but Harry couldn’t have if he tried, head pressed up against the pillows. 

“You’re sweet,” Louis whispers against the shell of Harry’s ear. “I like you.”  
Well, that’s good, Harry thinks. His eyes dart down to the neckline of Louis’ shirt that stops far too high off. He still wants to bite his collarbones. Harry’s fingers toy with the hem of the _asstastic_ top again. “Can I take this off?” he murmurs quietly, cheeks red mostly because of the situation he’s in but also because his cock is hard in his jeans and he knows that Louis can feel it. 

Louis chuckles gently and mouths at the corner of Harry’s jaw. “Such a gentleman.” His voice is low; it makes Harry shiver. “But go ahead.” Harry fists his hands into the material of Louis’ shirt. “So long as the compensation is that yours comes off too.” 

“Fair,” Harry breathes out, and Louis pulls off his shirt and then Harry’s. Harry immediately attaches his lips to the smooth, warm skin of Louis’ collarbones and relishes in the way Louis breathes out heavily through his nose. Harry kisses across his chest, bites lightly. “Am I allowed to leave a mark?” he asks, and Louis laughs into his hair. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Louis soothes, leaning down to kiss at the corner of Harry’s mouth and speaking there, too. “I just don’t have very many blokes asking for permission.”

“Is that a yes or a no?” Harry breathes back. 

“As long as we get to keep it... _fair_ ,” Louis whispers, and he kisses Harry again, rough, with their tongues sliding together and Louis pressing his hands into Harry’s shoulders and his teeth into Harry’s bottom lip. Harry’s hands find their way to Louis’ upper back, reveling in the warm, soft skin, pressing along the dip of his spine. It’s like gliding, when he moves his hand, and eventually they come to sit right above the swell of Louis’ ass, not sure if he should touch or not, and too occupied with his mouth to overthink it. Louis grinds his hips down first, and Harry’s breath hitches into Louis’ lips. He can feel Louis smirk. “Would it be wrong to get off my sisters’ nanny in my bedroom?” 

Harry chokes, but says, “Maybe a little.” 

“I’m going to do it anyway,” Louis says, running his hand back and forth along Harry’s shoulder, and well, Harry would like to hope so. 

“At your leisure.”  

“I consider myself an opportunist,” Louis regards, mouthing at Harry’s jaw. 

“The moment is yours, Lou,” Harry murmurs, his heart up his throat and every muscle in his body thrumming with anticipation. 

Louis crawls off of Harry’s body, stands up, and downright strips, peeling off his sweats and briefs without thinking twice. Harry stares again, at his disheveled hair and endless smooth skin and hard cock that’s pressed up against his stomach.

“Don’t know why I put these on in the first place,” Louis murmurs aloud. He gives Harry a pointed look. 

“What?”

“Your jeans, Harry.”

“Oh,” he says. Harry takes a deep breath and shimmies out of them and his boxers, and then he’s laying on Louis’ bed, the brother of the kids he nannies for, and well. His mind is racing, but his heart is faster, and Louis is touching him again, his hand trailing up Harry’s bare thigh all the way up to his bottom lip. 

“You’re not a virgin, are you, Harry?”

Harry flushes. “No – I’m. I’m not, no.”

“Good,” Louis murmurs, and he straddles Harry’s thighs again, curves his hands along Harry’s shoulders and runs them up to his jaw to cup it. He kisses Harry again like that for an amount of time that Harry doesn’t care about. He’s breathless when Louis pulls back. Immediately, Louis settles on his neck, kissing gently at the skin where it’s smoothest. His hips grind down and Harry bucks up. He swears he can feel Louis’ smirk. They move together, sweat-slick and hard, and when Harry groans as Louis wraps a hand around the both of them, he whispers, “Quiet. We’re not home alone, babe.”

Harry bites his lip, and as if Louis wants to tease him, he swirls his thumb around the slit of Harry’s cock and it takes a fist in the sheets and every ounce of self control for Harry to not cry out. 

“You look nice like this,” Louis murmurs as he strokes them together, and Harry wants to know how he’s so composed. “Very pink. Pretty and pink.”

Harry’s brow furrows and he feels the familiar coil in his stomach. “Fuck,” he breathes. Harry yanks him down to kiss him again, licking into his mouth and trailing a hand across his chest. He brings his hand down to join Louis’. “Fuck,” he says again, “Louis, I–”

“Me too; come on, Harry.”

His eyes shut hard as he comes, mouth dropping open and chest heaving. Louis follows soon after, and he plucks tissues from the night table beside them to clean up. 

Harry makes to stand after he’s pulled on his boxers again, but Louis pushes him gently back down. “Stay. I like to cuddle.”

Harry laughs, and Louis artfully drapes himself directly on top of Harry. “Comfortable,” Harry grumbles, and Louis chuckles, steamrolling off of him, and settling into his side, instead. It’s quiet for a moment, and Harry thinks. He wants to know more about this boy laying next to him. Louis is bold, but somehow closed off. He seems to always say what he wants, but the truth of the matter is that Harry doesn’t know all that much about him at all. “Do you have a bucket list?” Harry asks. 

“A bucket list?” Louis echoes. He stares up at the ceiling. Harry keeps his eyes on him. “No,” he says after a few beats of silence. “I’d never thought to make one.”  
“Why not?”

“I dunno. Maybe it’d be too long.” Louis sighs. “Or too short, who knows. And like, I feel like it’s disappointing to have a list where you know that you’re not going to finish everything on it.”  


“I think you’re looking at it wrong,” Harry breathes. He takes his hand and traces a pattern on Louis’ hip, feather light. “It’s not supposed to be an impossible list, it’s supposed to be your grandest desires. Not all of them are even supposed to come true. But the fun is knowing that you’ll try.” Harry presses his thumb into the jut of Louis’ hipbone. “For instance, one of the things on my bucket list is to go to Mars. 99.9% chance that it won’t happen because a) I have no desire to be an astronaut b) no one has been to Mars, ever and c) I don’t even know that they ever will. But I just think it’d be cool, so I put it on the list.”

Harry watches the faintest of smiles spread across Louis’ lips. “Tell me another.”

“I want to fall in love; that’s on there.” 

“And is that improbable?” Louis asks gently, turning onto his side to rest his head further on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Not necessarily, but it’s also something I can’t control, so.”

Louis is quiet for a little, his fingers trailing over Harry’s skin. “I like that.” Harry feels like he’s just won something. 

“I want to hear something of yours. It can be something that _would_ be on your list, even though you don’t have one.”

“Hmm...” Louis hums. “I want to see your o face again.” Harry splutters. “It was cute!” His jaw hangs open. 

“Cute?” Harry exclaims indignantly. “ _Cute_? It’s supposed to be... sexy or whatever!” He puffs his chest out, and Louis laughs into it. 

“You’re just cute all the time.” Harry pouts and huffs. “See! Like that. That was cute.” Harry just shakes his head and Louis pats it consolingly. “There, there.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Give me a real one.”

“While that was a completely real and genuine entry to my bucket list, I will do the generous favor of giving you another.” Louis pauses again and stares at his ceiling fan. “I want to graduate school without failing all of my A-levels, and I want to go to a good university to study what I love.”

“Why?” Harry presses. 

“What kind of question is that?” Louis snorts. “What do you mean, why?”

“What do you mean what do you mean? I want to know why!”

“So I can get happy and stay happy,” Louis says. It sounds final. 

“You’re not happy?” Harry asks softly. 

“Not as happy as I could be. I’ve been – better. But worse, too.”

“You getting better now?” Harry asks into Louis’ ear, touching gently behind it. 

“Trying,” Louis breathes. “I’m happy right now, here.”

Harry doesn’t say much else, but he looks at the ceiling fan, where Louis was before, and thinks for a long while, as Louis’ breathing evens out and he slips into sleep resting on Harry’s chest. 

Harry thinks sunny days and neighborhood walks and dewdrop grass and bright eyes that should have clouds in them, they’re so blue, because that seems pretty happy to him. 

***

When Louis asks Harry what he’s doing Saturday on the following Friday’s night, they’re laying on Louis’ bed, just watching the ceiling fan after exchanging handies and trying to watch a movie but failing. 

“Nothing,” Harry breathes. “Why, are your parents going somewhere? Is Jay on call? Do the girls have something? ‘Cause I can come watch them, or whatever.”

Louis bites his finger to get him to be quiet. He’s smiling. “Not that, you tosser. I want to hang out with you.”

Harry can’t fight the flush that spreads onto his cheeks and the smile that spills from his lips. He manages to be teasing. “Depends what we’re doing.”

“We’re going bull fighting, actually. Wear red.”

Harry splutters into Louis’ neck. “What are we really doing?”

“I’m taking you somewhere. But we need to shop first, so – just come prepared for that, yeah? And I have a place to show you. It’ll be nice.”

Harry doesn’t doubt it for a second. Everything Louis does is nice; every moment Harry has spent with him has been nice, or more than. “I’m already looking forward to it.” He kisses the junction where Louis’ neck meets his shoulders. “Will you pick me up?”

“You just want to ride in the Porsche.”

“You’re not wrong,” Harry murmurs, sleep overriding his voice and slowing him further. 

Louis’ voice is scratchy. “M’never wrong.”

“G’night, Lou.” 

Louis turns and cradles his cheeks. He kisses Harry once, gently and chaste, but warm and comforting like the air around them and the space that their skin is touching and the heat radiating from Louis’ duvet. 

“Night, Harry,” Louis whispers. 

***

“I look ridiculous.”

“You look hot.”

Harry sighs, and it heaves his shoulders. “Red is not my color.”

“I still say you look hot, but if you insist.” Louis reaches his hands out to Harry’s chest and presses gently before slowly undoing the buttons and letting Harry shrug it off. “Maybe you should just wear nothing.”

Harry laughs. “Based on what we’ve tried on so far, I think I’d prefer it.”

Louis stands on his tiptoes and leans into Harry’s ear. “Trust me, I think I would too.” He shifts back and smirks. “But,” Louis starts, rifling through the clothes Harry hasn’t tried on yet, “I’m not sure if it’s, ah, _socially acceptable_ for where we’re going. Though I’m sure the birds wouldn’t mind.” 

Harry blushes at his feet. “Can we try other stuff, then?”

“Course.” Louis smiles at him, and he hoists up a pair of black jeans. “Take those ratty things off.” He looks down at Harry’s grungy, old, faded, and ripped jeans.  Harry turns red again. He pulls them off and takes the other pair from Louis’ hands. It takes him a lot more effort to get them on, and they hug him a hell of a lot tighter. Louis looks him up and down. “Better?”

Harry stares at himself in the mirror. “Better.”

And then Louis is holding out a grey v-neck and a navy blue blazer, and Harry thinks that Louis isn’t so terrible at this whole outfit thing. 

Harry frowns once they reach the cash register. “Louis,” he grumbles. 

“Harry,” Louis mocks in the same tone. 

“You’re not paying!” Harry whines. 

“I am, though,” Louis murmurs, and he holds out his shiny credit card to the employee behind the desk. She looks back at him warily with her eyebrows raised. 

“But your parents already pay me so much and–”

Louis rolls his eyes and presses a finger to Harry’s lips. “Shush. It’s my parents, not me, first of all. Plus, _I_ took you shopping, so _I’m_ paying. It’s just an outfit.”

“But it’s all fancy and–”

“Harry, love,” Louis murmurs, leaning in close. He presses a hand to Harry’s cheek. “I’m  paying.” He pats his face once and slaps the credit card on the table. 

Harry frowns, but realizes that there is no way out of this. “Can I buy you ice cream later?”

Louis smiles as he signs the machine. “I’d love that.”

***

Harry buys Louis double chocolate on a cone and they eat outside on a bench because _“there is no way in hell you’re spilling ice cream on my seats.”_ (In all truth Harry doesn’t blame him in the least.) The air is warm once they drive back with the windows rolled down, and Harry can’t stop sneaking glances at Louis in his aviators and the wind rustling his hair. Harry’s hand is on top of Louis’ on the gearshift. They sing too loudly to the Two Door Cinema Club CD that Louis has in the player, and Harry can’t stop smiling. He watches Louis and hopes that he feels as light as he does. 

When they pull into Louis’ driveway after going through the big shiny gates, Louis grabs his hand again and they lean on each other as they approach the front door. Louis bolts up the stairs with the bag of clothes in his hands, and Harry trots into the kitchen for some water. 

Lottie is sitting on one of the stools at the counter. She looks up when he walks in. “Harry?”  
Harry smiles at her. “Hey, Lottie.”

She looks at him with a furrowed brow and confused eyes. She pushes a piece of blonde hair behind her ear and says, “What’re you doing here? No offense, or anything.”

“Oh, I’m just hanging out with Louis. He’s taking me–” Harry pauses when he realizes that he doesn’t know. “Um, somewhere.”

Lottie nods slowly and unlocks her phone briefly to check if she has any notifications. When she doesn’t, she relocks it. Her eyebrows raise. “So, are you sure you’re not Louis’ boyfriend?”

Harry takes a deep breath. “I’m sure.”

He’s not sure.

Lottie nods again. “Okay.”

Harry gets his water and bolts upstairs to Louis’ room, only to find him leaning over his mirror in the bathroom fixing his fringe, clad in dark wash jeans that hug him in all the right places, a black button down, and thin cranberry suspenders. Harry salivates a little. 

“God, you’re fit,” Harry breathes before he can stop himself. 

Louis turns at the sound of his voice. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear,” he murmurs, and strides over to Harry and buries his fingers in his hair. He leans in close, just so their lips touch, and he whispers, “Now change, so I can say the same.” He pulls back before Harry can even think twice about stealing a kiss, and he pats him gently on the bum.

Harry laughs. “Will do, captain.”

“Captain?” Louis snorts, going back into the bathroom and mussing up his hair with wax. “Is that a kink of yours?”

Harry lets out an unexpected peal of laughter, clapping his hands over his mouth to muffle the sound. “Fortunately, no.”

Louis turns around at him just to pout. “Darn, I thought I’d found something interesting underneath all that hair. Such a shame.”

“Is it a kink of _yours?_ ” Harry retorts skeptically.  

Louis winks at him through the mirror. “I guess you’ll have to find out.”

***

They go to the woods like Louis promised on the walk, and there’s a couch and a wooden table covered with a tarp. A whole circle of trees are cut out, so there’s a gap in the forest that lets the light trickle in. Louis throws the tarp on the ground, and the two of them sit down on the sofa and stare up at the sky that spews sunlight and catches dust just right to make it seem like stardust and dreams. 

Harry takes Louis’ hand and weaves in and out of his knuckles with a fingertip. He wonders about where they’re going, but also where they’ve been and where they are. Harry openly stares at Louis, because he thinks at this point he’s allowed. Either Louis doesn’t notice, or more likely doesn’t care, because he just looks at his Sperrys and lets Harry play with his hand. 

It’s him who speaks up first, though. “So, I may have lied about there being cool stuff in the woods.” He laughs and Harry can tell it’s not genuine. 

“I think this very well may be the coolest place in town,” Harry argues.  
Louis scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Right.”

“Really!” Harry says. “Did you find it like this?”

“Nah,” Louis says. “My mate Zayn put it together with his dad when he was younger. He showed me years ago, and now, well, I just have permission to show cute boys like you.”

“And how many other boys have you showed this to?” Harry asks dubiously, mostly kidding but also nervous that he’s not special, that Louis has done this with dozens of other boys, bought them nice clothes and kissed the warm spot on their neck, by their jaw. 

But Louis’ head is lolling onto his shoulder, and he’s looking up at Harry with sparkly blue eyes and _longlonglong_ eyelashes, and he whispers, “Just you.”

And perhaps Harry is a bit gone for this boy, but he lets himself grin up at the sunny spot between the gaps of the trees and twine his fingers with Louis’. 

There’s more quiet – sans the chirp of the birds and the rustle of the wind in the leaves and the gentle crackling from Harry’s Converse in the dirt and brush – but Harry lets himself think in tranquil moments of revery. His mind jumps straight to Louis, maybe because he’s sitting just next to him, but he’s been taking notice that it’s the same place his thoughts have been heading recently. Louis was like springtime for Harry, the anticipation for the first burst of brightness, and then being surrounded by it – and never wanting it to go away. And now Harry’s never able to look away. He’s drawn to him, all of his luminous glory and blinding smiles that brings Harry together and tears him apart. 

Getting this close to Louis was like a haze. It felt like almost a trance, where he grew moony eyes and a bigger heart. Harry got smitten in the blink of an eye. While it seemed unfold in all of an instance, it registers in Harry’s mind that Louis isn’t just some hookup. He might seem like a summer love, but it’s not thoughtless. There are moments, Harry thinks, that feel more intimate than he’s ever had. He feels closer to Louis than to some of his friends. He remembers little things; they _know_ little things. 

Like in the kitchen on a Saturday morning before the girls woke up one morning, when Louis told him about when his dad left, and Harry told him just the same. And how Harry found out how Louis takes his tea and vowed to never forget. (Thus far, he hasn’t.) 

Or when Louis drove Harry home one night on a weekday when the girls needed watching and Louis had a football match with mates until late. Harry let Louis come in, and Harry showed Louis his room, and they explored the house and each other’s bodies and Harry _knows_ that there isn’t a way that he could forget those moments. They whispered together afterward because it felt right, and Harry told him about the things he writes in his notebooks about his dreams and his nightmares, and Louis told him about the dreams he used to have. Harry assured him that they’re not dreams passed or implausible. 

He doesn’t know if Louis believed him. 

There was another night, when Harry was watching the girls, and they had all gone to sleep. He had taken it upon himself to go out back, because there was a beautiful deck and comfy chaises and a pool illuminated by a changing light. He sat outside and stared up, and he wasn’t sure how long he was out there, but it was only when a hand was on his shoulder did he move at all. Louis looked down at him with eyes that were sparkly in the dark, and he said, “Budge over.”

So they stared at the stars, and Harry asked him again about the things that would be on his bucket list. Louis told him two:

To go to three music festivals in one summer.

To take a roadtrip to wherever the signs lead him. 

Harry didn’t tell him that he wants to do both of those things with him. 

Harry’s mind can whirr on forever; he can list a million instances of him falling a little bit more for this boy whose hand is warm in his and whose soul deserves to have every ounce of happiness put upon it. He’s drawn out of his thoughts only to want so much _more_ with Louis, and by little kisses being peppered on his neck. 

“What’s up, Lou?” Harry asks. 

“Am I not allowed to kiss you whenever you want?” Louis asks, biting instead. 

Harry laughs. “Feel free. I just thought you might want something.”

“Not really,” Louis breathes, still mouthing at Harry’s neck, “just this.”

“Hey, Lou?” Harry asks, and Louis hums against his skin in response. “Are you happy?”

Louis stops kissing him and sits up. He tries to pull his fingers away from Harry’s, but Harry knows that he has the habit of playing with his fingers when he’s uncomfortable, but Harry doesn’t want him to be. He’s not trying to make him feel that way, he just wants to know; he wants to know if he’s making Louis as happy as Louis makes him. “Right now?”

“Yeah, but. Generally, too. Are you happy?”

“I –” Louis bites his lip, and Harry watches his hand twitch. “I need to think. I _feel_ happy. Like, I have been. But sometimes I don’t know how long it’ll last. And sometimes I feel like it’s all some façade or mist hiding how I really am? Because that’s happened before. I’ve felt on top of the world, and then been completely shoved off. Sadness is a weird thing, Harry. It overtakes you and abandons you at the strangest of times.”

“And what about right now?” Harry breathes. 

Louis takes a shuddery breath, and Harry squeezes his hand where they’re still interlocked. “So happy.” There’s a beat. “All day with you, Harry, I was happy.”

“I want to make you happy,” Harry whispers. “I want to make your eyes shine and your heart race, and I want you to feel every single cheesy thing they say in the romance novels and romcoms whether it’s butterflies or seventh heaven. I don’t care if I sound fucking stupid.” Harry is fierce. “I think you deserve everything.”

Louis is quiet. Harry hears him breathe out once, twice, three times, and then there’s the softest of kisses like nighttime whispers being pressed to Harry’s cheek. 

***

They walk out of the woods with their hands still together, but it’s not the way they came in. There’s a path that leads the opposite direction, and Harry whispers, “Are we gonna have to walk back through there in the dark?”

Louis laughs at him. “Nah, babe. There’s a sidewalk that takes about just as long. That’s just for fun.” He’s teasing and a little mocking, but to spite him, Harry just chirps something  happily back. 

When they break through the trees, they’re in an extravagant backyard, landscaped to perfection with welcoming lights and perfectly shaped trees. The house itself is more of a mansion, and it’s even bigger than Louis’. It looks fairly quiet, only kitchen lights on and one on the third floor. 

“Whose house is this?” Harry asks. “Is this even where we’re going? Are you taking me to a party with all your friends because I don’t know if I feel comfortable, because I don’t really know anyone and they’re just so much more –”

Louis cuts him off with a gentle kiss on the lips and a squeeze to both his shoulders. “Harry,” he says firmly. 

Harry nods.

“Get a grip.” 

Harry nods again. 

“Yes, it’s a party. Zayn’s – remember him? – party. And if it’s that which you’re worried about, don’t be. First off, they can be pretentious snobby arseholes, but not when they’re around each other. They’re not intimidating. They’re kids, like you and me. You don’t have to leave my side the whole night. Don’t be nervous, okay babe? You’re sweet. They’ll love you.”

Harry nods for a third time, but he looks down at his shoes and tugs on the end of his soft grey shirt. He plays with the cuffs of his blazer. 

“Are you worried about that, too? Jesus, Harry.” Harry blushes. “I told you already,” Louis whispers, and he gets closer to Harry’s ear, kisses up his neck, “you look hot. Trust me.” Harry blushes harder, and he lets Louis sling an arm around his waist. 

“Party time, Haz.”

***

The reason why the house looks so dead from the outside is because the illusion carries over to the inside, too. The only thing that gives leeway toward the idea of a party is the low thumping of the bass coming from underground when Harry’s standing in the kitchen. Louis smirks at him when he sees Harry’s shock. He kisses Harry in the empty hallway that leads to the staircase to the basement. 

“Come on, showstopper,” Louis murmurs, voice low and intoxicating. “We have an appearance to make.”

He claps Harry on the shoulder, straightens his lapels, and smirks in a way of saying _follow me_ as he treks down the stairs. Harry follows on nervous, pigeon-toed feet down the steep staircase, and the basement is not a sight he’s exactly expecting. Everyone cheers at Louis’ arrival with chants of his name and all-around drunken happiness. The room is beautifully done, with a billiards table and a plasma T.V. that’s playing the videos of the music that’s blasting throughout the floor. There are boys in button downs and jackets and tight slacks and chinos. Harry’s intimidated by nearly everyone’s hair. They all seem lax though, laughing and drinking and shouting like a group of drunk 17 year olds should. There’s a bar in the back where a blonde kid who looks like he’s having too much fun is mixing drinks. 

Harry takes a deep breath and lets his fingers brush against Louis’ thigh. 

A guy in a black top with the top three buttons undone and tall hair greets the pair first. He reels Louis in for a hug, and asks, “Who’s this?”

“Harry! I told you about him,” Louis says animatedly. 

“Oh! So you’re the famous nanny, I take it? Good to meet you, mate. I’m Zayn.” He offers a hand to which Harry responds enthusiastically. A smile creeps onto his face and some of his nerves fizzle out. 

“Likewise, mate. I don’t know if I’d call you famous, but from what I’ve heard you seem like a cool dude.”

“Happy to hear Louis isn’t trashtalking me too much.”

“Only the usual amount, dear,” Louis teases, pinching Zayn’s cheek and reeling Harry in by the waist again. “Where’s the boyfriend?”

“Lecturing Niall about serving Jack and Vodka in one drink, probably. I’ll give him a shot, loosen him right up.” 

Louis laughs and hugs Zayn again, but then proceeds to pull Harry around the room and introduce him to everyone there. (It takes a while.) 

Two hours in, and Harry and Louis are spectacularly drunk. They’re sitting all over each other and making out every fifteen minutes, but no one really seems to mind. Harry has taken a liking to Zayn, Liam, and Niall, but probably because they’re the only ones whose names he can remember, and they played billiards with him and Louis. (Everyone laughed at his attempts, but he did, too, so.) The couch is comfortable where they sit now, and Harry’s cosmo is fucking delicious. (Niall isn’t the one who made it.) Louis kisses his neck with a warm mouth and he holds the neck of a beer bottle between two fingers. 

He laughs so much the whole night that he doesn’t remember what he was nervous about in the first place. 

When everyone is gone, Zayn and Liam are sitting on the kitchen counter, and Harry is smiling at Louis who is talking to Zayn. He’s mostly aware of everything that’s going on. 

“Hey, Z, we can stay, yeah? In the room?” Louis is saying. Harry doesn’t even bother to question what room he’s talking about it. 

“Go for it. Don’t stain my sheets though, asshole.”

Louis just laughs and pulls Harry by the hand up two flights of stairs and into a dark, regally designed and furnished room. But then he’s being pushed up against the door once it’s slammed shut, so he doesn’t have too much space to think about the carving in the bedposts. Louis tastes like Corona when they kiss, but it’s warm like the feeling in Harry’s tummy, and Louis’ hands running beneath his trousers and on his bum are warm, too. Harry grips Louis’ jaw, licks into his mouth with no finesse at all, and lets the noises that pour from his lips bleed into Louis’. 

He sucks on Louis’ neck as payback from the entire party, and when he bites down, Louis jerks back and takes his hand. “You regret being nervous?” he asks. 

“No,” Harry says right away. 

“And why’s that?”

“You kissed me to calm me down.”

Louis laughs. “Sap.”

Harry just noses into Louis’ neck and breathes out warm air to get him to shiver. “I want–” Harry starts, but Louis is everywhere. Louis is under his nails and in his mouth and on the very edges of his skin. “I wanna suck you off. Can I suck you off?”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes. “Yeah, fuck, Harry. How do you want–” Harry whines and drops to his knees because it’s all he can think to do. He mouths at Louis’ trousers and grips his thighs. Louis runs his hands through Harry’s soft hair, mussed from the night of Louis’ fingers constantly carding. Harry looks up at him with round, sea glass eyes and blow pupils. His fingers work dexterously at Louis’ button of his jeans as he noses at Louis’ stomach to get him to unbutton his shirt. When he does, Harry sucks at his hipbone and mouths at him through his briefs.  “You want it so bad, Harry, I can see it.” Harry can do nothing but nod. 

“Do you love it?”

Harry nods again. 

“Go on then.”

Harry is very, very drunk. It’s not his finest work, but he works his mouth across the head and sucks gently, touching Louis with his hands and gauging his reactions, wanting to know how much Louis gets out of what.  He bobs his head after a while, growing more comfortable with his mouth stretched around Louis’ cock, but taking the gentle sweep of Louis’ thumb across his cheekbone as praise. Louis sweat on his brow, but his deft hands still calm Harry as they move along his scalp. He pulls once, and Harry whines around his cock. 

Harry takes heavy breaths through his nose, and Louis’ cock touches the back of his throat. 

“Fuck, Harry,” he hears Louis choke out. 

Harry ruts against Louis’ leg because he can’t take it anymore, and he watches the way Louis’ stomach muscles clench, the way his eyes flutter shut. He runs his tongue over the slit and shudders when Louis groans and tugs on his hair again. 

“You’re so good, babe.” Harry barely manages to make a noise around Louis’ cock, and the way Louis scratches at the back of his neck sends a shiver down his spine. “Fuck, I–” And Louis warns him, but Harry’s stays down, swallowing as Louis comes down his throat. He feels Louis’ thighs shudder under his hold, and Harry is so close. He pulls his mouth off of Louis’ cock, and palms himself through his trousers, taking out his dick at the last moment and coming into his hand. 

(In the morning, he’ll be glad he spared his new jeans.)

They curl up in Zayn’s nice guest bed, sated and warm, and Louis whispers to him about how happy he is that he had fun, and Harry tells him with words drawn into the back of his palm and murmured into his chest that he’s happier. 

And it’s right when they’re about to fall asleep that Harry asks, “Louis, are you my boyfriend?”

Louis licks his neck, and Harry shoves, him but not hard enough for him to roll out of their little bubble. “Is that such a hard question?”

“I’m still drunk,” Harry argues.

“So am I,” Louis retorts. “Drunk and tired.”

“Louis, I am cordially inviting you to be my boyfriend.”

“No,” Louis says, and Harry frowns. 

“Why not?”

“I already am, dumbass.” Louis kisses his cheek in the dark, and he misses, landing half on his lips. He tries again; it’s his temple.

Harry falls asleep to the sound of soft breathing and with the hands that make adrenaline shoot through his veins like wildfire and light twined into his. 

***

It’s three weeks later when they’re laying next to each other outside, sides pressed together as they squish onto one chaise. Sunlight drips onto them and spreads throughout their skin like a remedy. The girls are playing in the pool, and Harry feels so, so warm. He gazes over at the boy next to him in rapture, pure elation because that’s all seems to flood him when they’re skin grazes, and Louis grins lazily at him, _fond._ It’s then that Harry thinks he might be able to cross something off his bucket list. 

_I want to fall in love._

He murmurs into the shell of Harry’s ear –  because Harry is always asking, asking with his eyes, _are you?_ – “I’m really, _really_ happy.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you guys liked it! comments and kudos mean _so_ much! ✧･ﾟ:*✧\\(◠‿◠\✿)


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